


A Burning That Aches

by WisteriaTeeth



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Closure, Declarations Of Love, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Mollymauk Tealeaf, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 06:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16424408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WisteriaTeeth/pseuds/WisteriaTeeth
Summary: "Something weighing on your mind, hm?"Something like bone paste cakes your tongue; thick as frosting but bitter, so bitter. "You're dead."They shrug. "Happens. A shame, though, I was so hoping to celebrate when we returned home.""We do not have a home.""We were making one."





	A Burning That Aches

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write sad things without happy endings or fix-its for deaths, but this was really good emotional catharsis and I hope it's an enjoyable read as well! <3

It goes like this.

Your lover dies in a field of violets. Basking in lavender moonlight, hands clasped behind their head and blood glittering like crushed garnet on their grinning lips. There's a snarl in there, somewhere, the passion of a hunter alongside the joy of a child. Or an immortal.

Either way. It lies heavy in your chest like an urn of ashes.

"Sit, sit," they beckon you.

The violets bend beneath your filthy hands. You're not sure if they're broken; you don't look. You don't think you can handle many more broken things.

"Something weighing on your mind, hm?"

Something like bone paste cakes your tongue; thick as frosting but bitter, so bitter. "You're dead."

They shrug. "Happens. A shame, though, I was so hoping to celebrate when we returned home."

"We do not have a home."

"We were making one."

Your breath hitches. You didn't think you had to breathe here.

"We could have been something, couldn't have we?"

"Oh, darling," they sigh. Moon beams trickle down their gory body as they sit up, hand warm on your knee like an anvil, hammering you back together. Even in death they smell of brimstone and fragrant oils and upturned earth. Your head spins. "We were so close. But Lady Fate is a fickle mistress, and regrets can only be buried in the dirt."

You scowl. "You know I do not believe those things."

"But you believe me?" Their hands cup your cheeks. You burn, you ache; you keen as you lean into a touch that is not touching. Just as stars may feel each other's light but never their warmth.

"You have a gilded tongue. Of course not." Then, childishly, because if they may have the light of one them you may have the temper of one, you add, "This is not fair. It's--It's very unfair. Yeah?"

Long fingers, practiced and kind, thread through your hair now. "It's closure, dear. What's unfair is that guilt and shame you carry around with you. Don't you know how many wonderful things you could fit in your pocket if you let all that go?"

Your tongue burns out your mouth, "You know I can't, I cannot," harsh and soot smudged, "never. I will never forget this. Forget you, forget us. What could have been. I will remember it forever." All you taste is brimstone. You smell smoke. The flowers must be burning.

It's burning, all of it, burning away just like you knew it would.

You hiccup and those are tears not fire stinging your face and then there are arms wrapped tight tight around you like the quilt you slept with during the winter months as a child, and because you're held like a child and kissed on the forehead like a child and hushed and shushed and fussed over like a child you decide you may as well sob like a child as well.

"It hurts, it hurts and I don't know what to do with it with, with all this hurt and _everything_ , it is too much, too much I can't-"

"Hush, love, hush." Things will not - cannot - ever be better but their voice makes you want to believe, hopelessly, "I've got you, for now. For now."

"We did not even get to dance together!" You cry, fists angry and hot, breaking and broken.

"We didn't get to do a lot of things. I'm sorry. I know, I'm sorry." They rock you in their arms and you want to scream and shout and kick and punch, yank everything back into place, _like it should be_ , like it should have been. But you are a child fighting against death and a lover without your lover evermore.

You cry until you can't and then you cry some more.

"Shh, shhh. Come here." You've already buried into their arms and you'd fight anything, God or Man, who would dare wrench you away now, but you follow them into the violets. A halo around their head, a cushion beneath yours weary. "We'll rest now, how's that sound? You need to so badly, I know. We can rest. It's okay."

"I do not want to lose you," you say hoarsely. You always knew you would. It's the same as picking pretty flowers and knowing they'll wilt and die soon enough.

"I know. You won't, not really. You can let go of that regret without forgetting me."

"No, I can't,"

"Yes, you can," and they press bloody lips to your temple like a wax seal.

"We could have been so much, so good, I would have been so good,"

"I know, love. Darling, dearest, I know." A kiss red on your eyelids. "You'll still be good. I'll just leave you brighter. Like a star,"

"Stars fall and burn."

"Stars hang in the sky and burn with passion. Love, adventure, life, all of it. You will too," they promise.

Promises lie cold on your lips. You want to shake your head. You're still and silent instead.

"You will." Again, confidently, surely. "You'll be magnificent and amazing, like the sun. You'll learn like blank books and fresh ink, like the roots of a tree, like bees nestled in flowers, like heartstrings to the sound of music." Their hand twines into your hair again. Petting slowly. Fondly. "Lovely, like the first taste of honey. Like summers dance and familiar floors worn with memory. Loving," they say.

You fall asleep in your lovers graveyard to an aching heart and knitting wounds. It cuts and heals and cuts again, scar tissue over scar tissue over scar tissue.

This is healing.


End file.
